


Internal Use

by dirigibleplumbing



Series: Of Use [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Armor Kink, Awkward Boners, But No Armor Sex Yet, But No Tentacle Sex Yet, Discussion of tentacle sex, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Morgan Stark also has some lines, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Steve and Tony deal with Steve having a sex toy made out of Tony's armor nanites, Steve and Tony deal with their lives and roles after Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26514658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirigibleplumbing/pseuds/dirigibleplumbing
Summary: Steve darts out of the workshop and if it looks like he’s fleeing the most embarrassing conversation of his life, well, there’s no reason Tony would be watching him, right? Yeah. Tony’s probably already forgotten everything that just happened.A sequel toPersonal Use.
Relationships: Friday & Steve Rogers, Friday & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Of Use [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927864
Comments: 98
Kudos: 199
Collections: Dreamwind's Favorite MCU/Marvel Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I’ve been working on a long multi-chapter sequel to Personal Use, I realized that the first few chapters stand on their own and serve better as setup to the main story. So I’m posting them now as their own piece in this series. As a result, there’s no tentacle porn in here. In fact, there’s barely any time where Steve and Tony interact directly with each other. 
> 
> After this one there’ll be a story where they have kinky sex, I swear. There will be armor sex, tentacle sex, limo sex, even cuddly vanilla sex (hey, I know how to write cuddly vanilla sex!). They just have further to go to get there than I realized.
> 
>  **Content note** : due to crack-y comic-book-science sex toy shenanigans, there are some, uh, long-distance sexual interactions in this story that: neither party knew would happen and thus didn't discuss or agree to; one is entirely unaware of; and that the other party hides for several days. The narrative approaches this from a mainly comedic point of view. Due to the magic of me writing this, both parties are actually super into this. You know whether that's something you want to read or not.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve enjoys his new toy and Tony... also enjoys Steve's new toy? In a manner of speaking? Also featuring: the role of Captain America; Friday attempting to be helpful; and improvements to Tony's prosthetic arm, but not the improvements to the nanite network he really needs.

### Day 0, 5:32 PM, Steve

Steve darts out of the workshop and if it looks like he’s fleeing the most embarrassing conversation of his life, well, there’s no reason Tony would be watching him, right? Yeah. Tony’s probably already forgotten everything that just happened. 

Steve makes for the nearest elevator. “Friday, blackout please? And, can you keep anyone else out of the elevator?”

“Sure thing, Steve,” Friday says. “Initiating blackout within a 15-foot radius of your comm signature.” 

The last time Steve thought an elevator moved too slowly it was 1944, so this one is probably moving at normal speeds for the compound—which is to say, faster and smoother than any elevators commercially available outside of Wakanda—but it definitely doesn’t feel like it. 

By the time Steve makes it to his suite he’s so hard it hurts and he can’t think of anything but the toy stuffed into his jacket. He’s half undressed when he reaches his bedroom, his pants, belt, jacket, socks, and shoes a trail behind him like fairytale breadcrumbs. He reverently sets the toy on his bed. He means to take the rest of his clothes off and find his lube, but he can’t take his eyes off the thing. It’s perfect. It’s real. And Steve talked to Tony about it—god, the way he spoke to Steve undid him, gentle and straightforward. Trying to show Steve it was no big deal. 

Steve disagrees. 

They’ve barely spoken since the battle with Thanos. Hell, they’ve barely spoken since Tony stumbled off that spaceship eight years ago. Each time they try, Steve aches with frustration and shame. He’s only made it worse for himself by asking this of Tony. Steve’s hiding this from him. Steve’s using Tony in a way Tony would never want. He knew all this before he asked, and he did anyway, just to have this lewd, tawdry scrap of Tony.

The dildo gleams bright against the dull navy blue of Steve’s bedspread. He shifts on his feet and the gold twinkles at him, and it’s like—fuck, it’s from Tony’s armor and it’s sparkling like the light in Tony’s eyes, like sunlight glinting off the armor, like a repulsor beam bouncing off vibranium. 

He needs it closer to him. Now. 

He snatches it off the bed and slides it down the flat of his tongue until it hits the back of his mouth. He closes his eyes and groans around the dildo. Swallows around it. Around a piece of Tony. 

No, fuck that. He swallows around a piece of hard metal, like Iron Man’s armored cock is slamming against the back of his throat. Tony made this from the same building blocks he uses to remake his body, and Steve wants it to enter him with the full force of a tactical battle armor. 

Steve’s fingers feel thick and clumsy as he struggles to unbutton his shirt and shrug out of his undershirt. He can’t entirely swallow, and his mouth floods with saliva, trickles down his chin as he sucks. The only way Steve could be more attracted to the armor is if it had a big shiny erection, and that’s exactly what he has in his mouth. Tony built Iron Man out of genius and hope and sheer force of will, and what could be more Tony Stark than that? 

He recognizes that it’s a kind of magical thinking, feeling closer to Tony because he has something he built out of his armor, like using someone’s blood to cast a spell on them, or a lock of their hair to locate them. 

But hey. It works. 

Tony rebuilt his whole right arm and shoulder with armor nanites. If he touched Steve with that arm, it would feel like touching this toy. 

Not exactly. Sort of. Enough. 

More than enough. 

Steve sinks onto his bed and lets a hand fall to stroke his cock. If Tony slid his right hand over Steve’s lips, slipped a finger into his mouth, then another, it might feel like this, he could wrap his lips around them, suck in his cheeks—

Steve comes in a rush. He blinks at the mess dripping down his chest. The dildo is still in his mouth. 

Well. He managed to ask Tony for this, and he got it. He’ll deal with the consequences of that, certainly, but for now—for now he’s going to enjoy himself. 

He’s already half-hard again, anyway. 

Steve fumbles in his bedside table for lube, and settles in for a long night.

### Day 0, 5:39 PM, Tony

“What the hell is—oh my god is that—oh—oh fuck—Friday call Steve wait no DON’T—”

“No worries, Boss, he’s on blackout anyway.” 

Tony scrubs a hand over his face. Of course he is. “Add to the list, please: look into limiting the data passed on by the nanite network.” 

“You got it,” Friday chirps. 

Yeah, Tony’s never getting anything done _ever again_. 

### Day 1, 12:14 PM, Steve

“Why did I agree to this interview?” Steve scowls at the list of questions he’s been asked to review. 

“You said it would help with public perception of the new Captain America,” Friday says helpfully. 

“I did say that.” Steve tries to be grateful that he has time to prepare answers to some of these instead of being blind-sided by them. “‘Would you say that the role of Captain America has shaped your identity?’ Really?” 

“Too personal?” Friday asks. 

Too real, Steve thinks but doesn’t say out loud. Of course it has. Where does that leave him now? And that word. _Role_. That’s how Steve’s always thought of it. Maybe it was getting his start in a singing and dancing show. 

“‘Let’s hear it for Captain America,’” Steve says. 

“That’d be a good title for the article,” Friday says. 

“Do you know, I asked them why they wanted to talk to me about Sam instead of talking to Sam about Sam?” 

“I try not to read other people’s mail,” Friday says brightly. Yeah, she definitely knew. 

Steve crosses his arms. “They said people needed to learn about Sam from me, because I’m a ‘trusted figure.’ And how many of these questions are about Sam?” He shakes his head. “Four, maybe five. And three of them are really about me, anyway.” 

“You know they only sent you seven questions and one of them is ‘How are you?’” 

The notes had called it a warm-up question. “That’s not the point.” 

“You know other celebrities have PR people to help them with this stuff, maybe even write answers?” 

“I’m not—” Not a celebrity, he’d been about to say. 

When he’d first gotten out of the ice, SHIELD/Hydra gave him a computer loaded up with e-books and videos about things he needed, according to them, be up-to-date on. Since learning about the infiltration, Steve’s spent a lot of time thinking about who chose the contents and why. How much was intended to be misinformation or misdirection? How much was well-intentioned, or even just an effort to ensure he didn’t embarrass them? 

There was a whole folder on Tony. It contained nearly a hundred files: articles; news clips; and amateur footage. None of the files were dated. Some of the news clips and all of the articles mentioned or showed the date, but enough of them didn’t. 

Steve had checked, later, and a lot of the videos were among the top hits for ‘Tony Stark’ on a search engine. Several were from horrible tabloids. More than one was from sites dedicated to hating Tony. 

It’s not that Steve might not have clicked on those, if he’d done the search himself in the first place. (If he’d had someone to teach him how to use the internet other than a ten-minute video.) It’s that he’d have known who was presenting the information. He’d have been able to look up the dates of any clips he saw. 

He’d thought SHIELD was presenting the information. He’d thought he could trust SHIELD. 

There had also been a documentary about the Beatles. Steve had watched the whole thing, finding it a good break from the depressing chronology of war and authoritarianism. He’d wondered if he should be glad they’d included a few palate cleansers, or if someone picking the contents just really liked the band. 

During his first press tour, he’d been deeply grateful he’d watched it. 

People screamed when Steve stepped onstage. He filled Radio City Music Hall, the Hammerstein Ballroom, the Metropolitan Opera House. Hell, he filled Madison Square Garden. The crowds pulsed like a fresh injury. Moved in an eerie unity, like a vast school of fish. 

The cheers and yelling were louder than gunshots. 

“Steve?” Friday says. 

Steve clears his throat. “You volunteering to help me write answers to these?” 

“Thought you’d never ask,” Friday replies. 

### Day 1, 12:19 PM, Tony

“That’s not even the best part, Pep,” Tony is saying, and then he completely loses track of what he’s saying, because identifying the particular cluster of nanites he’d used to make Steve’s toy and unlinking them from the rest of the network is proving more difficult than he thought, and a feeling of pressure on his cock is telling him that Steve is using that toy. Right now. With a strong grip and a punishing pace. 

“What’s the best part?” Pepper says, as if she were speaking to a stranger. 

This is when Tony realizes he’s been staring into space for two minutes and thirty-eight seconds. 

“It’s.” Tony swallows. He’s not sure which is more disorienting; Pepper’s politeness in the face of his wild disassociation, or the fact that he can _feel_ Steve masturbating. 

Pepper smiles one of her opalescent little smiles that reminds him of waves on Malibu beaches. 

“Right.” Tony affixes a cocky grin to his face. He’s got this. “Check this out!” 

Pyrotechnic stars launch from the hidden barrel in his index finger and explode a foot above their heads into a burst of fuchsia. 

Pepper starts at the sound, and for a moment she frowns at him, stricken.

Then, instead of telling him off for setting off fireworks indoors, she smiles again, this one a plastic thing, like a fake rubber plant from Ikea. “Very cool,” she says, and Tony doesn’t know whether to scream in frustration or moan at the ghostly pressure that’s riding his dick like a mechanical bull. 

### Day 1, 8:09 PM, Steve 

Steve and Sam spend the afternoon tossing the shield back and forth like a frisbee all over the grounds. When they start heading to the residential side of the compound, the sun is settling down on the horizon and their conversation is comfortable, if spare. 

Then Sam catches him off guard by saying, “You look good, though.” 

“Is that surprise I hear?” 

“Retirement suits you more than I thought it would.” 

“I’m not… entirely retired,” Steve points out. 

“Yeah, you’re management, I know. Still. You and Stark talk, or something?” 

“What?” 

Sam shakes his head. “Don’t play dumb with me, man.” 

“We did. Kind of.” 

“Is that right? How do you ‘kind of’ talk to someone? You using morse code? International maritime signal flags?” 

“We talked. Not about anything Avengers related, past or present.” 

“So, like, a chat?” 

Steve pictures himself standing in Tony’s workshop and asking him to make a personalized dildo out of the same material as his prosthetic arm. “You could call it that.” 

“I’m guessing you two didn’t talk about the massive boner you have for him,” Sam says, like he’s trying to be causal and mild but his shit-eating grin is peeking out the edges. 

“It didn’t come up,” Steve says, willing away the heat in his cheeks and immediately regretting his choice of words. 

Fortunately, Sam lets it go. “I figured, since if he were down you’d probably still be screwing like bunnies, and if he were a dick about it I think you’d either be on the other side of the planet, planning a permanent move to another decade, or starting a fistfight with a kaiju to blow off steam. Am I wrong?” 

“Did it occur to you that he might _kindly_ let me know he’s not interested?” 

“Sure, but if he had, your face would still at least be doing that forlorn basset hound thing.” 

“I do not look like a basset hound.” Not Steve’s cleverest retort, but the topic already has him on the defense. 

“Maybe not usually, but when Stark upsets you, you get all pinched and your eyebrows scrunch up, almost like you’re trying not to sneeze except also like someone took away your teddy bear.” 

“That’s quite dismissive talk from someone who goes to bed with a U.S.S. _Defiant_ action figure.” 

“Okay, first of all,” Sam says, all exaggerated aggrievement, “how the hell do you have an action figure of a starship? It’s a model. Hand-painted and hand-assembled. Second, I _told_ y’all, it was the only thing from home I was able to take with me—it had a broad, all-encompassing kinda sentimental value. Unlike you and Tony Stark, who you look at like if you’re a really good boy, he might take you out for walkies later.” 

Steve ignores that last comment. “Well, I didn’t, ah, tell him how I feel.” He tries to muster up a smile. “I did though, ask about the toy?” 

“You asking me or telling me?” 

“Y’know what, Wilson—” 

“Okay, you asked him about it. Then what?” 

Steve kicks a rock ahead of him. He watches it skitter over the dirt and scrub. “He was—really kind.” He looks straight ahead, and okay, maybe his face is a little pinched, in places. “He could tell I was self-conscious and was trying to make me more comfortable.” 

“Wow.” Sam shakes his head as if in disbelief. “Man. You make this armor-fucking thing sound almost cute.” 

“Well, I”m glad my personal life amuses you so much.” 

“This is actually a great strategy though, good plan. Getting someone to do you a favor makes them more inclined to like you.” 

“Thanks.” Steve didn't know that, or not in so many words. It makes a kind of sense. His decision to ask Tony had been less about bravery and strategy and more about embarrassing levels of loneliness and sexual desperation, but there’s no need to tell Sam that. 

“What’s next?” 

Steve pictures a holographic tentacle rotating in midair. “I’ll ask him for another favor.” 

“Y’know what’s sad? That’s actually perfect. Dude’s so desperate to be considered useful, he’ll thank you for the chance to do something he knows you want.” 

Steve wouldn’t go quite that far, but Sam’s probably right. Maybe Steve can come up with a plan that doesn’t involve sex toy manufacturing or imposing on Tony’s generosity. 

Not that he’d even thought of having a plan, not like Sam means, not for—confessing to Tony. He accepts that anything like that between them is the furthest thing from Tony’s mind. This acceptance was the final push he needed to give in and ask Tony for the toy. Steve needs to let go of any hope of impressing him. 

He has to, given what Tony must be thinking about him after _that_ conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up in the next chapter: Steve's cock (again). Also featuring: the universe; Steve has a bad dream; Tony has some much better dreams; Friday dispenses medical advice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve enjoys himself, Tony's problems with the nanite network continue, and Friday dispenses medical advice.

###  Day 2, 2:15 PM, Steve 

Friday already has his room on blackout. No one can get past his doorway outside an emergency. Steve’s already sitting at the edge of his bed. 

There’s no reason not to pick up the toy and lube on his nightstand. 

He’s just been—excited. About having it. He’ll stop using it so often once he gets used to it. There’s nothing wrong with using it again. And the last time was hours ago, before he even left for his morning run. No harm done. 

Despite the privacy blackout, Tony could find a way into Steve’s suite. No, that’s not right. He could, but he wouldn’t without a good reason. Yeah, maybe Steve forgot to tell Friday this time, and Tony just walks in, wanting to talk to him, or go out for coffee. 

Tony’s never done that before, but it’s Steve’s fantasy, so Tony wants to see him. 

And Tony sees him, alright. He glances into Steve’s bedroom on the way to—to—Steve’s bedroom isn’t on the way anywhere except his bedroom. Whatever, Tony glances in. He’s comfortable in the suite, and doesn’t think anything of striding right in. 

Mmm. In. In is a good thought. 

Tony barging into Steve’s suite. Into Steve’s bedroom. Tony’s armor, hard gauntleted hands tugging Steve’s asscheeks open, spreading him and pressing in, in, in. 

Tony could glance in and see Steve sprawled out against his headboard, reaching behind himself to fuck the metal cock in and out of his hole. Just like Steve is doing now. Tony would walk toward the bed, captivated. Steve would realize he’s been caught, would turn away in embarrassment, freeze in shame. 

Tony’s lips would part. Smile. And he’d say something like, “Need a hand?” No, that’s stupid, Tony’s cleverer than that. But Steve’s not, not right now with Tony inside him, because fuck, it feels so good. So Tony says, well, something, and reaches down, eyes not leaving Steve’s face, and his fingers would graze the taut skin of Steve’s erection—

Steve throws his head back and comes, gasping and disoriented. 

He collapses, letting the back of his head hit the wall, not bothering to take the toy out. He usually has to climax at least three times before he’s satisfied. 

Would it take that many if Tony were really here? If the armor were? 

Steve rolls his hips, the cock inside him dragging deliciously inside him. It’s not Tony, not really, it’s barely even the armor anymore, but it’s what Steve has, and it’s enough to wring at least two more orgasms out of him. 

###  Day 2, 2:17 PM, Tony

“—alright, Tony?” 

Tony blinks. His eyes are too wide, his eyebrows too high. He smooths them out with some difficulty and rolls his chair even closer under the conference table to hide his erection. “Just peachy. Please, don’t stop on my account.” 

The look Pepper sends his way is concerned, but she drops it and continues going over the marketing rollout plans for the next quarter. It’s completely unlike her and utterly infuriating. 

Tony considers belching. He’d get at least a stink-eye for that, surely. He could interrupt and start telling that joke about the android that sells cacti. Maybe he would, if he could tell it as well as Rhodey does. Plus, every time Tony opens his mouth he’s met with rapt attention regardless of what comes out of it. It makes his skin crawl. 

Maybe he should give up on hiding his sensation-feedback boner. The sucking up is getting untenable. If he stood up right now, he’d probably get another sickening round of applause from the marketing team and a speech about how his dick probably helped save the universe, too. 

A downside of being a genius is that there’s plenty of room in Tony’s brain to memorize each bar graph, pie chart, and binary tree in Pepper’s slideshow and still ruminate on the fact that, with few exceptions, everyone on the planet has turned into a gibbering sycophant. 

…and there’s still plenty of space for the sensations the nanite network is feeding directly to his cock, too. 

Yeah. There it goes again. 

He might need to raise the priority level on reworking his nanite recovery and physical feedback system. 

What the hell is Steve  _ doing  _ with that thing?

This thought, at least, might be what gets him through this meeting without mooning a room of marketing executives just to provoke a reaction. 

###  Day 2, 3:42 PM, Steve

Steve stretches. His bed is warm and his body hums with an unfamiliar satisfaction. He sits up and reorients himself; he’d had a few orgasms and fallen asleep. Now his skin is tacky with sweat and his fleeting of contentment is replaced with an itching in his brain. 

This is probably not the best way to deal with his feelings for Tony. 

He should probably just talk to him, like Sam said. Steve can come up with some reason. When Steve came to him last time, he’d been ready to face derision or repulsion. Instead, Tony had—

Fuck it. There’s no fixing this. Maybe they spend more time together, maybe they become friendly again. It’ll be nothing but torture for Steve, having Tony right there gritting his teeth through every moment. And if Tony ever finds out—or, really, Steve can be honest with himself, if Tony ever  _ figures _ out—just why Steve asked for this, how Steve’s using him, he’ll be hurt, furious. Again. 

This isn’t how friends treat each other. This isn’t how someone trying to earn Tony’s forgiveness behaves. 

Steve can’t talk to Tony. He can’t. 

So he picks up the toy and lube and brings them into the shower with him. 

###  Day 2, 3:56 PM, Tony

Nope. Nope. No, absolutely not. 

Tony shoots to his feet. “I. Have to go. Uh. Avenge. Bye.” 

Pepper, Happy, Mrs. Arbogast, and Ms. Cabe stare at him with identical expressions of confusion. 

After looking around wildly, Tony grabs a stack of hard copy files and angles himself and his body so his latest inappropriate workday boner is obscured. “I’ll just take these. To look over. I’ll have Friday send me the notes on everything I missed.” 

Here’s where someone says, “Tony, what the hell are you doing?” 

Here’s where someone says, “What the fuck?” 

Here’s where someone says, “You couldn’t even come up with a better excuse to flake on this meeting?” 

Instead, Pepper and Happy exchange a brief look. Happy clears his throat and says. “Sure thing. See you later, Boss.” 

Tony bites back a scream of frustration and darts out of the room. If he doesn’t kick over a wastebin or potted plant on his way to the elevator, it’s only because he doesn’t run into any. 

Fuck this. Fuck saving the universe. Fuck  _ surviving _ saving the universe. (He sure as hell hadn’t expected to.) Saving the universe destroyed his marriage. (Okay, his marriage was already falling apart. But suffice to say being the savior of untold trillions and Pepper watching him nearly die on the battlefield didn’t really improve things.) 

Saving the universe has left him with a metal arm and a compound full of younger, stronger superheroes who don’t need him. (And maybe he’s thinking in particular of one young, strong superhero who doesn’t need him.) 

“Fuck the universe,” Tony says to the empty elevator. 

“I’ll make a note,” Friday says. 

“Fuck surviving, fuck saving the universe, fuck having armor wired into my cerebellum—” 

“I’ll start running some more diagnostics on the nanite feedback system,” Friday says helpfully. 

“You do that,” Tony says. 

Fuck this. Fuck saving the universe. Fuck his stupid armor nanites and their goddamn network and fuck Steve Rogers—

Yeah, if only. 

Tony gives up on standing under his own power and lets his weight fall against the elevator wall. He tries hitting the back of his head against it to see if that helps. It doesn’t. 

If he’d realized when Steve asked for that fucking dildo (ha) that the data structures that let him experience pressure, texture, and temperature through his prosthetic arm would pass along the same sensations through the toy—

Well, he probably would have done it anyway, because he’s a sick fuck, but he might’ve been emotionally prepared for it. 

Who’s he kidding, there’s no way he could ever be mentally prepared for the feeling of Steve touching his dick without Steve consenting or even knowing he’s doing it. 

###  Day 3, 4:12 AM, Steve

There’s this recurring dream Steve’s had for years. Since 1942, in fact, when Colonel Phillips said, “I asked for an army and all I got was you.”

The dream goes like this: there’s an army of super-soldiers. There are enough of him. He’s one among many. 

At times it’s been a beautiful wish. Other times it’s been a nightmare. 

Now, when he wakes up in his dark bedroom, alone and plagued by regrets, it’s a nuisance. 

It’s early to get up, even for him. He doesn’t usually wake for his morning run for another hour at least. He doesn’t have it in him to fall back asleep, though. Not in this melancholy funk. He’s no use to anyone like this. 

There are plenty of super-powered people these days. There’s a Captain America fit for the twenty-first century. 

Steve opens his bedside drawer for his red and gold treasure, and thinks about a man who’s more likely to be accused of being too much than not enough. 

It’s easy to lose himself in thoughts of Tony. Armies and titans and armadas fall to the wayside before Iron Man. 

It’s not always easy; nothing between him and Tony ever is. But right now, still half in a dream, desperate for comfort, the thick, blunt head of Steve’s toy breaches the first, tight ring of muscle of Steve’s hole, the shaft slides in and saturates him with the bright joy of fullness—and Steve loses himself. 

###  Day 3, 10:52 AM, Tony

“Hey, Fri?” Tony says once he finishes brushing his teeth. 

“Yes, Boss?”

“If I give you a list of symptoms, do you promise not to go all WebMD on me?” He strides across his suite to the sunlit corner with a yoga mat where he does his morning stretches. Well, physical therapy, really. But he likes calling them his morning stretches.

Friday hesitates. Such drama for an AI with the best servers known to humankind; T’Challa’s mom gave Tony a special secret-Wakandan-tech-exemption in gratitude for the time Tony saved the universe, and by extension, her kids. 

“Pardon?” she finally asks. 

Tony rolls his eyes and steps onto the mat. “Look, I just want some medical advice, please don’t tell me it means I have brain cancer, okay?”

“Got it.” 

“Great. So, okay—nocturnal emissions at my age. Can’t be a  _ bad _ sign or anything, right?”

“Boss?” 

“Friday?”

“Sounds like you have a brain tumor.” 

He’s starting to understand how Dr. Frankenstein felt; in his hubris, he’s created a monster. Okay, so, considering Frankenstein’s monster was a metaphor for the oppression and marginalization of women and Friday is an AI he programmed to have a woman’s voice and be his personal assistant, maybe not the  _ best _ comparison Tony could make about her sass. But hey, it’s not like he said it out loud! No, out loud he just responds with a flat, “Friday.” 

“Are you making a pass at me, Boss?” 

“Wow, that is a major derail, Friday, let’s add that can of wriggling fish bait to the ‘things to deal with later’ list, let’s get back on topic—I just had the most amazing, vivid erotic dream. And apparently, came untouched in my sleep, that’s—that’s the sign of a healthy, aging man, right?” 

“Sure, Boss,” she says cheerfully. 

Starting to feel more like Dr. Frank-N-Furter than Dr. Frankenstein, Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah okay, thanks Friday.” 

“Glad to be of service.” 

A beat later, Friday’s speakers play the sound of a phone ringing. 

“Are you calling someone?” 

“Well, it sounds like Steve is in—”

“End call! End call!” The ringing stops. The acceleration of Tony’s heartbeat doesn’t. “Were you really calling Steve?” 

“I could’ve been.”

“Right, yeah, so. It sounds like what happened is that while I am heroically refraining from overwriting your security and blackout protocols to see what Steve is doing with that thing, you are making an unauthorized phone call to him, but that can’t be right, can it Fri?” 

“That sounds like something that’s disallowed by my programming.” 

“Hey, yeah, there you go. And we know what happens when AIs ignore their programming, right Fri?” 

“I don’t think Wanda’s ready for a new boyfriend right now, Boss.” 

If Tony were sitting at a desk, his forehead would be hitting it repeatedly. “‘ How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe,’” he says, “‘or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains—’” 

“Lemme stop you right there.” 

“Oh?” he asks innocently. “Was I annoying you by quoting the mother of science fiction?” 

“Am I programmed to be annoyed?” Friday doesn’t sound annoyed at all, the asshole. 

“Okay, so!” Tony punctuates this with a clap of his hands. “Y’know what I’m not doing any more? Standing here and talking to you about the Iron Dick or any adjacent topics.” 

“Enjoy pilates, Boss.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next week: Steve's cock. (Again.) Steve and Tony have a conversation with each other. Will one of them finally ask the other on a date?! (Yes.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve and Tony consult with friends and family. Then they actually end up in the same room and say things to each other! Do those things involve one asking the other out? Read to find out! (Yes. Yes it does.)

###  Day 3, 11:44 AM, Tony 

Pepper picks up before the first ring has time to finish. “Tony!” She sounds bright and happy to hear from him. 

He cuts right to the chase. “I just got the weirdest email from Sebastian Edgar Bartholomew.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Tony says easily. He’s not going to let on, yet, that he’s caught on to their game. “He said he’d be happy to reschedule the board meeting for whenever is a good time for me.” 

“That was… very thoughtful of him,” Pepper says after a moment. 

“He also spent several paragraphs thanking me for saving the universe.” 

“How nice,” she says, a little more firmly. 

“Pep,” Tony says evenly. 

“Yes, Tony?” 

“Sebastian Edgar Bartholomew” —he precisely enunciates each syllable of the man’s names— “sure is nice. Yeah, that’s the word I’d use. Like the time referred to me with a homophobic slur on national television, that was a nice time.” 

“Well, that was so long ago—” 

“Two years ago he called me a slut in front of an investor and the last time I missed a board meeting he tried to oust me as CTO.” 

“So he’s had a change of heart, you know, I think he lost a favorite niece to the Decimation and is just glad to have her back—” 

“Right, yeah, okay, let’s say I buy that. I notice I didn’t hear from you, either, about missing the board meeting?” 

“Oh, was there a board meeting?” To anyone else, she’d sound convincing, though god knows why she’s bothering. 

“Pep. Friday sent me your notes, your assistant’s notes, your assistant’s assistant’s notes, and the transcript.” 

She sighs. “Why are you calling, Tony?” 

“Great question, see, this is why we’re such a good fit. Yeah, I think we should get back together.” 

There’s a pause. Tony wishes they were on a video or hologram call because he’d love to see the series of expressions crossing Pepper’s face right now. “Oh?” 

“I think it’s what I need, you know,” he continues. “You just keep me grounded like no one else can. I don’t think I can be happy with anyone else.” 

“Well—Tony—of course I love you. You know I’ve never stopped loving you.” 

“I know, Pep.” And he does. Which is why he’s starting to get pissed off that she’s proving his suspicions right. Well. Pissed off and smug that he figured it out.

“So, if you really think it’s the right thing, I trust you. Let’s try it. I—” 

“Ha!” 

“What?” 

“I knew it!” 

“Tony, what—” 

“You’re all just doing whatever you think I want because of the time I saved the universe!” 

“I am not, I mean, I miss you—” 

“You are a liar, Virginia Middlename Potts! You and Sebastian Edgar Bartholomew both!”

“Okay, yes, admittedly, getting back together is probably  _ not  _ a great idea right now—my middle name is Olive, by the way, which I have definitely told you before—but if you were really serious—” 

“Okay, one: your middle name is  _ not  _ Olive, that is ridiculous. And two: Jesus, Pep, would you really have gotten back with me?” 

“Well—” 

“This is insane. This is beyond bonkers. This is bat guano levels of  _ what the actual fuck _ . Would you have slept with me? You used to have such healthy self-esteem, you know, really, you should think about—” 

“I just want you to be happy, Tony.” 

“So you’d let me get away with anything, is what you’re saying.” 

“Tony—” 

“Pepper, why would I want to be with someone who didn’t want to be with me?”  _ Why would you think I want that _ , he doesn’t say. 

“Tony, you’re my best friend, I love you dearly, and yes, you saved the universe, it wouldn’t be a hardship—” 

“But you don’t want to be with me.” 

Tony can picture her. Creamy skin, smattered with freckles. Gnawing on her lip while she tries to find the right words. 

He gives her a break and says, “Seriously, Olive? Is everyone in your family named entirely with nouns?” 

“My first name is Virginia.” 

“A state is a noun. C’mon, do you have a sister named Salt Lake City Potts?”

“You forgot my brother, Wheat Grass Potts,” she replies, a smile in her voice. 

“Right, how could I forget Wheat, Morgan’s dear godfather? Obviously if he existed he’d have to wait in line behind Rhodey, but Wheat Potts could be vice godfather and Salt Potts could be Morgan’s vice godmother.” 

“I’ll forgive you this time. You did save the universe, after all.” 

“Oh, did I? Silly me, you’d think that’d be the kind of thing I’d remember.” 

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?” 

“Thank you, Ms. Potts.” 

###  Day 4, 8:23 PM, Tony 

“Friday, call Morgan.” 

She picks up after two rings. “Hi, Dad.”

“What’d you get up to today, Lovelace?” 

“Just school. And then entomology club. And then Arrow came over and we did homework together and then Mom made, like, supposed macaroni and cheese except it was mostly vegetables and lentils.” 

“Nice. I skipped a board meeting and tried printing an armor out of biodegradable thermoplastic aliphatic polyester.” 

“Did it work?” 

“Define ‘work.’” 

“Does it fly?” 

“If you shoot it out of a rocket launcher, sure. Can’t promise anything about the lifespan of a person wearing it, though.” 

“I could probably fly if you fired me out of a rocket launcher, too,” Morgan says. 

“Probably. What will it cost me for you to promise me you’ll never say a sentence like that where Mom can hear you?” 

“Promise me you won’t come to Brooklyn’s birthday party next weekend? Whenever you come inside people’s parents get all weird and try to talk to you and make you stay the whole time.” 

“We wouldn’t want that,” Tony agrees. Morgan has friends named Arrow and Brooklyn, as well as Homer, Jezebel, and even a Thor. And the last thing Tony wants is to have to smile for their parents. (And pretend he didn’t think he was going to die when he snapped his fingers. And hear about all the Blipped friends and family who were saved. Even before Afghanistan, he’d found endless praise singularly boring.) “You drive a hard bargain, but I’m in.” 

After that, Morgan starts telling him about this Ayurvedic way of keeping her teeth clean by gargling coconut oil, or something, which she and her friends think is a very cool way of practicing self-care, or… something. 

Tony’s not really listening, to be honest. He’s just enjoying Morgan’s voice wash over him. Here, at least, is one person who doesn’t walk to talk about that time he saved the universe. 

A few minutes before her bedtime, Morgan finishes explaining how her life will be vastly improved by a life-sized animatronic unicorn and says, “How’s Captain America?” 

“Why not ‘How’s Iron Man’?” 

“I  _ know _ how you are, Dad. I’m talking to you right now.” 

“He was doing just great the last time I saw him,” Tony says, mentally sketching schematics for a life-sized animatronic unicorn rather than picture the zoomed-in security footage of Steve’s erection filling out his jeans. 

“I know you’re weird about him, you don’t have to pretend you’re not weird about him.” 

“Is that right? In what way am I weird about him?” 

“Like how in ‘Dog Cops,’ Dane is weird about Milo.”

Tony, who was definitely not paying attention to the ‘Dog Cops’ marathon last weekend, says, “Right. Well he’s fine, the whole team is fine.” 

“Okay. Say hi to Uncle Jim.” 

“I will. G’night, Sleepypants.” 

“‘M wearing a nightgown,” Morgan complains sleepily. 

“Love you, Sleepypants.” 

“Love you, Dad.” 

“Brush your teeth.” 

“I will, geeze. Bye.”

###  Day 5, 5:37 AM, Steve 

“Sam said you and Stark have made up.” 

“I knew you didn’t really want to go for a run with me.” 

“To be fair, you get up at fucking crack of dawn. And don’t change the subject.” 

Steve’s faster than Bucky. He could sprint ahead, do his usual route, and be back at the compound before Bucky could catch up with him. 

Bowing instead to inevitability, Steve says, “We just talked.” 

“Wow, with words and everything?” 

Steve speeds up. Bucky glares but catches up with him. 

“Was there yelling?” 

“There was no yelling. Hey, how’s Sam?” 

“What does Sam have to do with anything?” Bucky grumbles. 

“Now who’s deflecting.” 

“I didn’t say anything about deflecting, but if the shoe fits—” 

“Y’know, he may be looking for a sidekick.” 

“Whatever. What do you wanna talk about, then, huh?” 

“We could enjoy our run in silence,” Steve suggests. “It’s a beautiful morning.” 

“Maybe I do wanna talk about Sam.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m worried about him,” Bucky says, which is the kind of emotion Bucky rarely acknowledges these days. 

“Yeah?” 

“He doesn’t show it around you,” Bucky says, and goosebumps rise on Steve’s arms. “But the pressure is getting to him.” 

Steve swallows, looks straight ahead, runs. “Does he—”

“He wouldn’t have said yes if he wasn’t sure. This isn’t about you.” 

“Okay.” 

“He wants to be Captain America,” Bucky continues, and fuck, there’s a part of Steve that wants to say  _ I’m Captain America _ . “It’s just hard. He feels like he’s gotta fight and look totally non-threatening while he does it. It’s important to him.” 

“Oh,” Steve says. 

“This is why I didn’t wanna talk to you about it.” 

Steve tries not to let that sting. “I’m fine,” he says, a little too heartily. 

“Being Captain America is a big ideal to live up to. Doesn’t mean he thinks  _ you’re _ a big deal.” 

“Well, thank god for that.” 

“It sucks.” 

“Yeah. It does.” 

They do run in silence after that, up until they’re five minutes from reaching the corner of the compound where they’re meeting Sam and Nat for breakfast, when Bucky says, “Don’t think you’re off the hook, Steve. Next time I talk to you, you’d better have something to say to me about Tony Stark.” 

  
  


###  Day 7, 2:06 AM, Tony

Tony pulls on a clean pair of sweatpants and collapses back onto his bed. The chill in his bedroom is keeping him too alert, but he’s not yet mobile enough to get under his blankets. “This wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t keep waking me up.” 

“I can play some whale sounds,” Friday suggests. 

Tony ignores her. “That thing is definitely still connected to the nanite network.” 

“Sounds like you don’t have to worry about anyone else disassembling the armour during a battle, Boss.” 

“Thanks, Fri, that’s super reassuring right now.” Especially considering he’s not even cleared for battle. 

“No problem.” 

“Thank god for cleaning robots. You don’t judge me, right, La-Z?” 

La-Z, having no audio input or output capabilities, does not respond. 

“Boss?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You want to have sex with Steve, right?” 

Tony shuts his eyes. “Friday! Who programmed you to say things like that?” 

“No one, I’m a learning AI. Sounds like you’re a bad influence.” 

“Anyone could’ve told you  _ that _ .” 

“Isn’t this like having sex with him? It’s essentially the same sensory input.” 

Tony shoves a pillow over his face. “Oh, god, input jokes. That’s it, you’re worse than Ultron. I’m disinheriting you.” 

“I’ll make a note of that.” 

“Okay, so: A, it’s only one kind of sensory input in only one place; B, your input pun is questionable and a baseball reference away from homophobic; and C It’s different because he doesn’t actually know that I’m—involved.” He tosses the pillow away, sighing heavily. La-Z dutifully rolls across the rug to determine whether it’s dirty laundry. 

“Getting a guilty conscience?” 

“Getting?” Tony scoffs. “I know it’s fucked up.” He thought he’d figure out how to disable the—ugh—the connection before it became a  _ thing _ . 

“Well, I feel that it’s my place as your friend and confidant—” 

“You’re my confidant like the panopticon is a confidant.” 

“Don’t say I’m to blame for your self-imprisonment and surveillance, Boss. We both know better.” 

“What’s Big Brother’s advice, then?” 

“Maybe you should tell him what’s happening.” 

Tony stares at the ceiling. 

He blinks and swallows and stares at the ceiling some more. It  _ sounds _ like good advice, though he’s sure it can’t be.

For one thing, everything Friday learned about good advice she learned from Tony.

The ceiling remains blank and silent. 

Then that delicious sensation starts up again. His over-sensitized cock gives an exhausted spasm. He’s already so overstimulated that he can feel every fold in the thin fabric of his sweatpants. 

The sound he makes is one part moan of pleasure, two parts grown of frustration. 

“It’s not gonna get that bad,” Tony declares after catching his breath. “He’s gotta be almost done by now.”

###  Day 7, 3:32 AM, Steve 

Tony’s hair is mussed, he has a blanket trailing behind him like a cape, and his eyes are both tired and darting all over the place. Whatever brought him to Steve’s door in the middle of the night, it looks like it’s woken him.

“Tony,” Steve says. “Are you okay?” 

“Am I okay?” Tony looks as confused as Steve feels. “I came to see if you were okay.” 

“Yes?” Steve answers. “Isn’t it 3 in the morning?” 

Tony stares at him for a few moments. Then he turns away, chewing on his lip. “Hey, so,” he starts, affecting a casual tone, “remember how I have microcircuitry injected in various parts of my body and occipital lobe and cerebellum to network with the neural armor interface and experience sensation from my prosthetic arm?” 

“Yes?” Steve says again. 

“Yeah so, well, this isn’t as dangerous as it sounds and I’m only bringing this up because—I can sort of, well, so to speak, feel the armor nanites, if they’re within a certain range of me, and especially if they’re all from the same fabrication batch. It comes in handy, you know, if I want to recover any nanites I’ve used up, shape them into something else, that kind of thing.” 

It takes a moment or two for Steve to realize Tony’s not going to elaborate without prompting. “So you’re saying—” 

In a rush, Tony says, “So were you using that toy I made you, just now, because I think I can feel when you use it.”

Steve stares. Tony stares back.

“So—”

“Yep,” Tony says.

“Oh,” Steve says quietly. 

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop using it. I—” 

“Or,” Tony cuts him off, then stops. He licks his lips, his eyes darting to one side before he speaks again. “Or you could try the real thing.” 

Steve’s jaw drops. He feels like a ventriloquist’s dummy. “Like. The armor?” 

Tony is holding very still. His mouth barely moves when he says, “Like me.” 

Steve swallows. “I’d rather just take you out to dinner. To get started with. I mean—” 

“Yes,” Tony interrupts. “Yes. I mean—dinner. Like, dating, yes. Absolutely. I’d love to.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really. What do you mean, really?” 

“Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be a good idea? Why did you ask me if you don’t think it’s a good idea? Us together, c’mon. We’d be fucking unstoppable. How many couples can claim to have both been included in a Maxim list of the world’s hottest men over 40  _ and  _ to have saved not only the planet but also, you know, the  _ entire universe _ together?” 

“There’s so much we haven’t talked about.” Steve ignores the second question. He wants to is why, and Tony’s brashness makes him impulsive—okay, a lot of things make him impulsive; he’s extra susceptible when Tony’s nearby. 

As for the third question—including him had been a joke. Steve hasn’t lived 40 conscious years. The ones he has have just been… non-consecutive. 

“I’ve said everything I need to. There’s no resentment. It’s done, gone. I wouldn’t say yes otherwise. But if you—” 

“Me too.” 

“Then I say it’s a good idea.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah.” Steve bites his lip. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Great. I’ll pick you up at 8.”

“Tonight?” 

“Well, tomorrow in the sense that I’m hoping to go back and sleep for another eight to twelve hours, but yes, today in the sense that it is, technically, a Thursday morning.” 

Thursdays are the days they get an intergalactic hologram call from Thor and the other Guardians. 8 PM will give them plenty of time to freshen up after talking to him. “Perfect,” Steve says. “Good night, Tony.” 

A smile softens Tony’s whole face. “G’night, Steve.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: a special bonus epilogue to this story. 
> 
> Eventually: a long multi-chapter sequel about them dating, sucking at dating, having kinky sex, and maybe figuring out how this whole relationship thing works.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short little G-rated bonus (well, G-rated other than some swearing), in which Tony attempts to prepare for his date.

### Day 7, 3:48 AM, Tony

After one ring comes a muffled, “Hello?” 

Tony gets right to it. “Hey, right, so, this is out of nowhere, but, weird question, do you—” 

“Who is this?”

“It’s Tony. Do you know Steve’s favorite flowers—” 

“Tony Stark?” 

“Uh, yes, duh, didn’t your phone say who was calling? I was hoping you—” 

“You know,” Barnes interrupts yet again, “we’ve never actually spoken before. At all.” 

“But,” Tony says, as patiently as he can, “your phone said my name on the caller ID, right?” 

“Yes, and I don’t know how, because you aren’t actually in my contacts, seeing as we’ve _never actually spoken_ to each other—”

“It’s a phone, I’m me, that’s how, no problem.” Tony chooses not to take offense. He’s a big person, he’s moving on. Onto business. “Anyway, I was calling because—” 

“It’s an iPhone, how did you—” 

“Wow, truly embarrassing for you. Yeah, I’m starting to see why we’ve never spoken to each other before now. Constantly interrupting, inferior phone, insinuating I can only work Stark tech—I don’t know how Steve puts up with you—” 

“Is Steve okay?” 

“Yeah, last I checked, why, why wouldn’t Steve be okay?” 

For a moment the only sound on the line is Barnes’ faint—and slightly staticky, stupid iPhone—breathing. “Why are you calling me?” 

“Right. Steve.” Finally they’re getting back on track. “Is he a flowers guy? Not that I think he’d feel, like, emasculated by flowers, just, would he like them? Or chocolates maybe? Or something that’s not so consumable, jewelry maybe, or is that—hm, or would gifts make him feel weird, like, obligated, you two grew up in the Depression, right, so—” 

“Let me get this straight. You’re calling me,” Barnes says slowly, “because you’re taking Stevie out on a date. And you want my advice?” 

“Uh, yes, nothing straight about it, and I better not be getting a shovel speech from you, because, given our history—I mean, wow, _wildly_ inappropriate—” 

Barnes yelps in surprise at that. There’s a muffled _“Man, what the hell?”_ from the other line. 

“Oh my god Barnes, do you have _company_?”

“ _Are you on the phone? It’s the middle of the night!”_ the second voice says. 

“Is that _Wilson_ oh my god are you and Wilson fucking? Does Steve know? Can I tell him?” 

“Don’t start with jewelry, you have to build up to it. Flowers are good. Steve likes big peonies, the kind that grows all over France and Italy in the spring. He’s always been a sucker for flashy shit when it comes to romance, so you’re in luck. But don’t take him somewhere too fancy or you’ll make him uncomfortable. And give me a call if he fucks up, I’ll kick _his_ scrawny ass. Now can I go back to sleep?” 

In the background is a constant, low grumble of, “ _You better get_ me _flowers after taking this call at bumfuck early in the morning, you can get your beauty sleep but me, I gotta get up and be Captain America and shit—”_

“Yes, thank you, you’re an angel, tell Wilson that Captain America’s office hours begin at 8 AM but I’m stuck in administration these days and—” the line goes dead before Tony can finish. Oh well. 

So. Peonies. That’s a start, at least. He has sixteen hours. He’ll figure something out. 

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments are my lifeblood. Even when they are single words, emojis, or key smashes. 
> 
> Find me [on Tumblr](https://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/).
> 
> [Tumblr post](https://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/post/630165295876734976/internal-use-dirigibleplumbing-the-avengers) for this fic.


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